Don't Slow Down
by Solo Ensemble
Summary: Jason knew that Elizabeth was running from her past, but as her world caves in, he must scramble to save everything they both hold dear.


**Prompt #153: Speeding motorcycle, the road is ours.**

**Note: **I know that I have a couple stories left to finish, and they will be finished soon. But I'm going to dust off Mariah's acorn here and say that I, too, miss writing and I like the flexibility these FFs allow. So this is a new series that is partially AU, and I hope you'll enjoy it. This is what happens when I listen to Yo La Tengo's "Speeding Motorcycle" about fifty times in a row.

* * *

**Don't Slow Down**

The wind whipped through his hair, raking through the golden silk as Jason gunned the accelerator and took off down the nearly empty country road. It had been a clear day when he ventured out of Port Charles for a much-needed bike ride, but now a couple hours later, the sky had turned a monochromatic gray. The sweeping plains were a putrid yellow; dried wild grass waving plaintively at the ominous sky, begging for the salvation of rain.

Jason closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the wind as it met him square in the face. It did smell like rain. The low growl of thunder could be heard faroff in the distance, behind him, and he spurred the bike on to greater speeds. It never failed to amaze him how much a single motorcycle and an empty road could do for the uneasy soul.

They were living through uneasy times, and he often found himself wondering when the bottom would drop out from beneath them. Port Charles, tucked safely away by the Catskills in upper New York, lay on the outskirts of the largest crime syndicate on the East Coast, made up of many formerly independent territories that were now all under the control of Lorenzo Alcazar. And now the Don was looking to expand his vast holdings even more.

He ran a significant conglomeration of mafia families, all of whom answered to him and turned over a fat cut of their profits. He oversaw all activities on the east coast, ranging from prostitution to gambling, and he even had his fingers in city halls across the state and Tri-State area, reaching as far as the capital district itself, beacon for freedom and justice that it was.

The Five Families, which included the organization that he and his partner Sonny headed up, were growing troubled. Unrest was spreading, and it was only a matter of time before their tentative alliance was torn asunder. The word through the network was that Lorenzo Alcazar was looking to merge with a powerful syndicate in the west, and needed to build up his own organization in an effort to be more attractive to the prospective partner he had been wooing for the past two years. The process was slow and steady, as was the buildup of the frustration and ill-ease that plagued the Five Families. The careful rustlings in the streets made clear one message: the independents would either join Lorenzo Alcazar peacefully or face an invasion.

The sky flashed once, and a pristine light that disappeared almost instantly illuminated the heavens. The growl of thunder in the distance sounded again, and the wind whistled gaily in his ears as Jason tightened his grip on the handlebars and increased his speed.

He and Sonny weren't as worried as the other four families. Though they had only been in Alcazar's company once, they knew that the mob kingpin favored them for reasons unknown. And that was reason enough for them to believe that they'd be among the more fortunate ones when Lorenzo marched in.

There was no use in trying to fight the moblord; many had tried and all had failed. Lorenzo was simply too powerful at this juncture in time. It wasn't a question anymore of _if_ they would have to join with him; it was _when_. And the focus now was on getting as good a deal out of the merger as possible. Their profits would be reduced, and their activities would face reduction in scope, but that was what they'd have to deal with in the short-term, at least, until equilibrium was met.

Thunder rolled again but Jason wasn't worried; he stood an excellent chance of beating the storm home. As he rode, he thought back to the many meetings the Five Families had held in anticipation of Alcazar's next moves. Sonny was surprisingly confident, secure in his understanding that Alcazar would favor them, and had irritated the other figureheads with his lack of empathy. Jason, on the other hand, felt numb. This was the organization that he and Sonny had built from the ground up and though he knew they couldn't hold on to it forever, he wasn't ready to let go of that freedom it afforded him yet.

But the situation was futile, and he was determined to do the best he could under Alcazar's imminent reign. There was no one to turn to in a time like this; Lorenzo Alcazar held their very existence in the palm of his hand and if he so chose, his fist could crush them permanently.

Things were about to change, and Jason knew they had to. All he could do at this point was hope for the best.

The thunder was encouraging him, growling behind him and rejoicing when he gunned the accelerator to beat it home. Though his bike handled slick roads excellently, he knew he wasn't in any danger because the storm was a good distance behind him. The road beckoned him, called on him to forget his troubles and throw caution to the wind, and to simply floor the gas and race down the pavement like a bullet from a gun.

The only car on the road was a good distance ahead of him, and Jason increased his speed. The wind whistled through his hair, rushing and billowing around him, and he cherished the moment in which nothing existed but the bike, the wind, and him.

* * *

Her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel, so hard that her knuckles turned alabaster from the lack of blood flow. The windows of the dark blue sports car were down and the wind whipped mercilessly through her hair, tossing the dark locks in her eyes and causing them to stick to the Carmex she had applied earlier to her lips. It was cold and clammy against her skin and made goosebumps break out all over her porcelain skin, despite the protection of her summer sweater.

With a thinly released sigh, she reached over and held her fingers down hard over the power window buttons. The roar of the wind receded, but the dull throb of her headache refused to leave.

Her stomach growled but it was an empty, dead hunger, requiring no nourishment and no attention. She didn't even remember the last time she had eaten – what with packing up her entire life in the period of ten terrifying minutes, she hadn't really had the presence of mind to do so.

The road was barren and threatening in its emptiness. She shivered and wrapped her hand tightly over the gearshift, just holding it there. The nails of the hand that remained over the steering wheel bit into her palm, but the pain was such a reprieve from the numbness that pervaded her body that she didn't make any move to end it.

The car drifted to the right and she guided it back, pressing down harder on the accelerator. The roads were empty and therefore she didn't fear being stopped by a cop any longer. And that was the last thing she needed – she had learned long ago that law enforcement officers weren't immune to the power of bribery and made it her mission to stay off their radar no matter the cost.

One glance in the rearview mirror revealed that the other occupant of the road – the one she thought she had left far behind – had managed to catch up. Her heart caught in her throat as she studied the figure carefully, trying to figure out if he was a tail or not. But she couldn't catch a good look at the driver of the sleek Harley; his body was blurred by the wind and just out of the realm of her cognizance.

Shoulders tense, she leaned back in her seat and squared her back hard against the rest. Both arms were rigid as she gripped the wheel and pressed harder on the gas, casting an apprehensive look at the fuel gauge. She'd have to stop in roughly ninety miles to fill up again; hopefully by that time, she'd be far enough away that she could actually stop for the night instead of just for a few minutes. She had come a long way, and still had a long way to go.

The freedom of the empty road seemed like a cruel joke to her, and the young woman angrily swiped her hair out of her face with one hand. Freedom was an illusion; it didn't exist on earth. Imprisonment, the lack of freedom, was a falsehood, too; it was only manufactured to support the illusion of its antithesis.

There was nothing in between the two, no happy medium. Nothing existed between the two at all, in fact, except her. She had always been suspended somewhere hopelessly in the middle, with no hope of breaking free.

_Free_.

She scoffed at herself and her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She'd never be free, but then again, she'd never go down easy, either.

* * *

He was doing ninety easily, which meant that the car in front of him had to be doing at least a hundred.

Jason squinted through the wind's attempt to hide the vista before him; ragged purple mountains stretched out ahead with a carpet of mustard plains at their feet, opening up only slightly in the middle to allow their road through. The same blue sports car that he had seen earlier was racing down the lane; perhaps the driver was trying to beat the impending storm. There was really no need for such recklessness.

He eased on the gas a little and watched as the car shot ahead instantly. What was it trying to outrun? Jason had learned a long time ago that it was futile to try to outrun fate. Things happened for a reason, and it was a testament to man's fortitude if he could stand bravely in the storm and weather it. Running was foolish, cowardly. He prided himself personally on never having run from anything in his life. Sonny would sometimes joke that it meant he was either really brave or really foolish himself, but Jason didn't think in those terms.

It wasn't about bravery or foolishness; running simply wasn't an option. Running should never be an option.

The car was a good deal ahead of him as Jason drove on steadily, feeling the winds pick up. They'd get a good rain, a healing rain. The land had been calling for it for days now and the call had been answered. His bike rumbled reassuringly beneath him and he shifted in his seat, wrapping his gloved hands tighter around the handlebars.

The clouds were swirling over his head in a dark, sensual dance; lighter patches mingling with the ominous darkness as the heavens prepared to erupt in a torrent of rain. He himself found it oddly peaceful, even comforting. For all his talk of resilience in the face of adversity, he had to admit that he found adversity itself reassuring. The idea that no matter what, there was something out there more powerful than anything man could summon up, was affirming in its own right.

Jason watched the car ahead of him drift a little to the left before straightening out. The only thing he could think was that the driver had better slow down; at fast speeds, turning the wheel even the smallest fraction of an inch could throw the entire vehicle off course in a potentially dangerous way.

But the driver refused to ease up on the gas and tore down the empty stretch of highway, leaving him farther and farther behind.

* * *

She was so focused on blocking out the painful roar in her head that the young woman didn't even notice it when the system lights began flashing over the odometer. But she felt it in her hands when the car stuttered for a second. Alarmed, she curled her hands more tightly around the wheel and was reassured when it picked up its steady rhythm.

The reassurance was fleeting. The car stammered again, its rhythm clearly broken, and the young woman's horrified blue eyes darted down to the flashing engine light. She could only curse as the car jerked violently before its speed rapidly decreased and she lost control.

Her instincts had her letting up the gas slowly, consistently, as she guided the car in the direction of its swerving. The shoulder was gravel and if she hit it too fast, there was a very real possibility that she'd flip over. While that would solve her problems in one way, she wasn't ready to take the easy way out.

She turned the wheel in the same direction as the end of the car as it fishtailed and reached for the handbrake. By bringing it up very slowly, she managed to exercise some control over the rapid deceleration. She hit the gravel hard but didn't tip, and brought the car to a screeching halt twenty feet later.

Numb with retroactive horror, she leaned back in the seat and tried to force sensation into her body. This could not be happening. She wasn't far away enough yet; she still stood a chance of being found. She sat still for a long moment, feeling the strength return to her legs. As soon as she was sure she could support herself, she opened the car door and stumbled onto the gravel, almost collapsing but using her hold on the door to keep herself upright. Her duffel bag which lay on the passenger seat next to her had crashed to the floor but there was nothing fragile in it.

Rubbing her temples, she tried to invite back coherent thought. The guards kept tools in the back of each car; there had to be something there she could use to get herself going again. Without wasting time and effort lingering in the doubts that crowded her mind, she raced to the back and popped the trunk. Drawing out a flashlight, she trotted back to the front in time to hear the low hiss of air slowly escaping her front right tire.

With a groan, she squatted down by it. She had hit a nail on the shoulder and it had punctured her tire completely through. Fortunately, there was a spare in the trunk and she'd have no trouble changing it. A little relieved, she walked back to the front and opened the hood, propping it open.

The solid beam of the flashlight in her hand darted around over the parts as she did a quick inspection. She checked the fuel pump first out of habit and then the bolts on the battery. So engrossed was she in her inspection that she barely heard the low hum of an approaching motorcycle until it growled upon hitting the gravel.

Snapping to attention, her horrified blue eyes landed on the same passenger she had took notice of earlier. She got her first chance to look at him as he hopped off the bike, and she knew from that first instant that he was trouble. Golden blonde hair, arranged in a tousled mess of spikes, dangerous blue eyes, and a hard body sculpted with care – the man was definitely trouble.

But his eyes seemed kind enough as he ambled slowly over to her, walking in slow strides and being sure to keep a distance from her. "You okay?"

She nodded jerkily, swiping her hair back behind her ear. Quickly scanning his body, she knew he wasn't one of the men she was running from, and most likely not a tail. "Yeah, yeah – I-I'm fine. Nothing to worry about."

"Need some help?" His blue eyes were curious now as he claimed another step, stripping off his leather gloves to reveal a strong pair of hands. Her gaze lingered there, on his long fingers and blunt nails, until she snapped her mouth shut and shook her head.

"I'm fine."

"So you say," she heard him mutter under her breath. "Looks like your tire's out."

She bristled at the tone of his voice. "I can change it myself."

His brows quirked up but he said nothing in reply, just nodding his head once. Still a little on edge, she lowered her flashlight once more and continued to poke around for the problem. And then she spotted it, way down in the dark depths of her favorite sports car.

"Aw, fuck!"

The man was clearly surprised to hear those words escape her mouth and rushed closer. "What's wrong?"

"The water belt," she groaned, running her hands through her hair in desperation. "The water belt's broken."

The man leaned forward and inspected her engine, only irritating her further. It was as if he didn't trust her judgment – if she said the fucking waterbelt was broken, then it was fucking broken. With a quick nod of his head, he pulled away and looked squarely at her.

"You're not going anywhere with that being busted."

She muttered something contemptible under her breath and shut her flashlight off. He watched her play with it for a minute before the young woman twirled around on her heel and launched the slim black flashlight into the air, watching as it arced down somewhere in the field. She was angry and frustrated and it rolled off of her in palpable waves.

As she fumed in quiet desperation, he took a moment to just look at the young woman whom he had mentally accused of being so reckless. She was beautiful, no doubt – her skin was purest porcelain that glowed with unearthly illumination under the ominous cover of the impending storm. Her sapphire orbs, wide and magical, were laced with a myriad of emotions, and she had pursed her full, ripe lips into a thin red line. She was very petite, and he doubted that she came up to more than his shoulder. But she was animated and looked as if she possessed a strength uncharacteristic of her diminutive stature.

He was unaware that he was staring until she glared up at him, not intimidated by the way he towered over her. Suppressing a smirk, he did the only thing he could think to do.

She frowned up at him as he extended his strong right hand. "Jason. Jason Morgan."

"Bond, James Bond," she mimicked sardonically, begrudgingly putting her small hand into his. She rolled her eyes when he lifted a brow at her. "E-Elizabeth. Elizabeth…Webber."

The blue-eyed devil nodded once and Elizabeth tried to compose herself. Her heart was racing and sheer panic coursed through her veins. She was just thankful that he apparently hadn't noticed how she stammered when asked for her name.

Her palms were clammy and she rubbed them on the worn denim of her jeans, sliding her fingers into her back pockets. She had no idea what she was going to do now. Stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with no hope of fixing her car. Stubborn pride had been her most salient characteristic since she was a young girl, and right now it was screaming at her not to ask the motorcycle man – _Morgan, Jason Morgan_, Roger Moore's voice repeated in her head – for help.

But in the end, he saved her. "Listen, I'm heading to Port Charles – it's about thirty miles away, the next town – and I could give you a lift if you need me to."

He watched her glance ruefully at the useless automobile, and the corners of her mouth pitched downward for a minute before she sighed wearily, with tension ill-fitting with her tender years. Her large eyes were solemn and defeated when she met his gaze again.

"I do need you to."

Jason nodded and motioned to his bike. "I've got some room in the cab for your bag, so…"

She raked her hands through her wild mane of hair as lightning illuminated the sky, alighting her porcelain skin with its intensity. "I'll get my stuff," Elizabeth finished quietly, pulling the prop out from under the hood and slamming it shut. Jason ambled slowly back to his bike, watching her as she pulled open her door and grabbed her duffel bag from the floor.

Elizabeth's heart was pounding in her ears as the thunder grew, rumbling so powerfully that she could feel it under her feet. It felt like the world was going to explode beneath her. Pushing that thought away, she pulled out her bag and dumped it in the gravel. Sneaking a quick look through the back windshield, she made sure that Jason wasn't looking before she popped the glove compartment and emptied the contents into her bag. She did the same with the little trash tray she used as a place to keep her lipsticks and spare change, and after going over the car once more for any other personal items, she shut the door, locked, it and grabbed her bag.

A jagged bolt of lightning cut through the sky, dividing the thick mess of dark clouds and the wind howled around her. Still, Elizabeth kept walking toward the motorcycle. Jason's eyes were on her as he waited, revving the engine, and it was as if those arresting pools of cerulean were pulling her through the resistant wind.

Thunder roared, forgetting its own reservations, and Elizabeth jumped a few inches in the air. Jason sensed her anxiety and when she was close enough, he reached out one strong hand to pull her the rest of the way. In one smooth motion, he pulled the bag from her arm and tossed it into the cab, safely locking it in.

A fat raindrop spattered on the tip of Elizabeth's nose as her trembling fingers tried to cinch the clasp of her helmet. The deafening roar of the bike under Jason's masterful hands barely rivaled that of the thunder, and the young woman's pulse was racing as she tried furiously to get the helmet on.

And then Jason's hands were on hers, framing her face so that he could help. His adroit fingers made quick work of securing her helmet and then he pulled her onto the bike at the same moment that he lifted the kickstand with a backward jerk of his heel.

The sky rumbled with thunder then opened, sending sheets of rain down onto the dark road. Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around Jason's waist as he spurred the bike to life. It growled and leapt forward and they were soon tearing down the road over the slick pavement. Elizabeth pressed herself against her companion's warm back and closed her eyes.

They had been unable to beat the storm.


End file.
